Page 14 of Sweet Chaos
“I’ve always cared,” he said quietly.
What the hell? What game was he playing?
His gaze lowered to my mouth and he bit his bottom lip. The air was taut with tension, and it felt like I’d stopped breathing. No.No. I didn’t want old feelings to resurface. I’d gotten over my infatuation with Dylan St. Clair years ago.
“Go away,” I muttered. I shooed him away with my hand which only made him laugh.
Dylan stood up as Shane emerged from one of the shaping bays in the back. A dusty blue bandana worn pirate-style covered his longish dirty-blond hair.
I smiled at Shane then tuned them out and concentrated on my design and the good things in my life, instead of my mixed-up emotions. This shop was one of my happy places. Remy’s surfing and ocean photography covered the driftwood walls and it smelled like surfboard wax and the sea salt-scented candles Remy always burned. Angus & Julia Stone piped from the speakers, the afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, and Dylan wasn’t allowed to cloud my thoughts.
I wasn’t that same stupid infatuated girl who once believed she could fix the broken bad boy.
He was never yours to fix.
* * *
“What happened?” Sienna prompted.
“Nothing happened. He just asked for my car keys, so I gave them to him. It’s no big deal.” I put her on speakerphone and set my phone on the kitchen counter while I rummaged through the cupboards in search of something to cook for dinner. My roommate was a foodie and a culinary genius. Not always a good thing. Why would anyone need so many capers and anchovies? I grabbed the loaf of bread, butter, and a wax paper-wrapped block of cheddar from the fridge. Nic was like the food Nazi. She refused to allow the plastic-wrapped singles into our apartment.
“That doesn’t make sense,” Sienna said, still puzzling over our dad’s actions as if she hadn’t known him for the entire twenty-seven years of her life. “You didn’t say or do anything to provoke him?”
“Well… I might have mentioned his mistress.” I winced as I spread butter on two slices of artisan sourdough bread. I made a mental note to buy some plain sliced white.
“Oh my God, Scar.” She burst out laughing. “You’re such an idiot. You never learn, do you?”
“Guess not.” Unlike me, Sienna was the perfect daughter. She graduated from USC with a 3.5 GPA and a degree in Finance and Marketing, did her summer internships at our father’s financial holdings company, and was now working as a Business Development Manager at a consulting firm in LA. She was smart, rich, and successful. More importantly, she knew how to play the game.
“I’d rather live on my own terms than have every move dictated by him. His money comes with too many strings attached. If I have to bum rides everywhere until I save enough for a car, it’s a small price to pay for my freedom.”
Brave words. Truth was that it sucked not having a car, but I’d made my bed, so I wasn’t going to whine about it.
My grilled cheese sandwich sizzled in the pan as I flattened it with my spatula.
“How does it feel?” Sienna asked.
“How does what feel?” I flipped my grilled cheese, my mouth watering at the golden cheesy goodness.
“Standing up to Dad like that. Telling him to go fuck himself.”
“I never said those words.”
“You didn’t have to. The intention was clear.”
“It’s kind of scary,” I admitted, “but it’s liberating. You should try it sometime.” I hadn’t meant for the words to sound like a dig, not really, but I guess that’s how it came across.
“You’re such a brat.”
“So you’ve told me about a million times.” Pulling up a stool at the island, I bit into my grilled cheese and cursed under my breath when I burned my tongue. Every. Single. Time. I reached for my bottle of water and guzzled it to soothe the burn.
“Because it’s true. But I love you anyway.”
I loved her too, and needed to remember that whenever Dylan showed up, looking fifty shades of hot and messing with my head.
Over the years, my relationship with Sienna had gone through a lot of ups and downs. When I was really young, I remember her being the best big sister ever. But by the time she was in junior high, she treated me like I was a pest and she didn’t want me around. That carried through her high school years. It was only when I got into my late teens that we started getting close, but not so close that we confided our secrets or bared our souls.
“Are you okay for money? I can help you out.”
